Lost In Translation
by callmecrazy83
Summary: When we speak, do we ever really say what we mean? A story of how Uhura and Spock were able to translate each other, from the very beginning.
1. Chapter 1

_I own nothing. If brain worms like this could make me money, what a wonderful world it would be. Reviews, however, are always nice._

_I hope you enjoy!!!_

She knew for certain her feelings had changed the day he'd broken his nose in class.

Up until that day, their relationship had been, to her, good natured but normal in the teacher student kind of way. It was in the end of her second year when he'd been assigned to take over a class she was forced to take, an advanced course on interplanetary diplomacy. She'd heard of him on campus, of course, since it was hard to miss the only half-Vulcan half-human golden child who won every award conceivable. But her knowledge was limited to only what she read on campus postings or overheard on the rare occasions she went out to any sort of public gathering. Uhura, after all, only listened to gossip if it was in a language she was trying to practice and master.

"You know, he's not that much older than us," her friend Galeth sniffed on the first day of class, his long blue fingers stretching to pull out a chair for her.

"A couple of years. So?"

"I don't know. Shouldn't our teachers have more experience?"

Uhura shrugged and scanned the computer screen in front of her. "His father was a diplomat, and he was top of his class here. That seems qualified enough. Besides, he was raised on Vulcan in their education system which statistically puts his average intelligence…"

Galeth groaned, the deep black of his large eyes covered only slightly by the film of his eyelids, "Please stop. It's too early for you to prove that you're smarter than me. Again."

"Well, if it weren't so simple…" she chided, but smiled broadly.

Galeth turned toward her, his posture relaxed. "Look, all I'm saying is maybe he'd be easier to…maybe he'd understand…"

"If you think that he's going to understand you coming to class hung over, than you need to go back and reread about the cultural elements of Vulcans."

Galeth rested his head on the back of his chair. "Geez, one mistake our first year, first sememester, ONE, and it stays with you forever."

Uhura tapped the tips of her fingers together. "Vomiting into a potted plant can be quite the memory maker."

"Fine." A murmur went through the room, as the instructor entered. Below them, two females watched him pass then turned to each other and giggled in hushed tones. Galeth surveyed him and poked Uhura with an elbow, "Hey, maybe you could 'practice' your Vulcan with him?"

Uhura's jaw tightened a little as her gaze went from the girls to the instructor and back again, "My Vulcan is fine, thank you."

"Hello," came a voice through the speaker, "my name is Spock."

XXXXXXXXXX

Uhura was right, of course. Spock was not the type of professor who huddled close with students to chat over warm cups of coffee. In fact, he banned all drinks from class, saying they "were a distraction." After three weeks, a third of students had dropped out from a combination of frustration and nonadmitted fear. That number increased to over half after midterms, when student's hopes for academic greatness were shredded by pieces and by terrifically correct comments and grades. There was an entire drinking game created, a shot while reading every time a comment was blunt, two if it indirectly insulted your prior education. Uhura was taken aback by the note at the end of her own paper, a simple "Your knowledge of the subject and use of materials is evident. Excellent spelling."

She was more pleased with the spelling comment. Any professor could have read her paper and seen it merits. But spelling, someone had to really be paying attention to notice good spelling. Besides, it spoke well to her abilities as a translator.

"Thank you," she told him after class, her first two words of direct communication outside of classroom discussion.

Spock didn't look up from the screen he was working from. "For what?"

"Your comments on my midterm."

He looked up, and Uhura was struck again by the fact that his face read control, not cold. "Thank yourself, Ms. Uhura. You did the work." She nodded and began to walk from the classroom. "It's…" Startled, she turned toward him again. He was staring at the back of the wall. "My comments, with the other students, they weren't too harsh?"

"I…" her words stumbled like her thoughts, "I…don't know."

His eyes continued to concentrate on the nondescript paneling that lined every lecture hall. "There's no need to lie." His chest shrunk a little in a small, silent sigh. "A criticism I have received in the past is that I can be too blunt in my commentary on others work, failing to take into account the emotional attachment that people can have to their assignments. I would like to avoid such disappointment."

"You don't want to hurt our feelings."

Spock turned his head to look at her. "Precisely. Though, I don't understand why people are so traumatized by criticism. If we don't know where we need to improve, how can we improve?"

Uhura thought for a moment. "I think that you pointed out what others pass off as acceptable as actually being unacceptable. And change is hard."

"Change is necessary."

"Yes, it is."

They stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence before Uhura turned to leave for a second time. "I was honest in my comment," he called out. She turned, and he was finally facing all the way toward her, "your spelling is outstanding." Uhura smiled at him, and for the first time when dealing with Vulcans wasn't the least bit bothered that he failed to smile back.

XXXXXXXXXX

She moved from the third row to the first row voluntarily, immediately, intrigued. Many considered Spock to be cold and distant in his lecture style. And while it was true that he didn't jump on desks to inspire, his knowledge was as deep and wide as the ocean outside the window of the classroom. And she liked the way that he pronounced his words, clean and crisp; similar to the linguistic audio tracks she'd listened to as a little girl, pressed under the covers, her second hand player casting a faint blue glow against the wall. She'd realized this connection in the middle of class one day as Spock's voice lilted on in the middle of a long explanation. The recognition made her laugh out loud quietly, and when Spock looked at her with the faintest hint of confusion in his eyebrows, she'd had to cover her embarrassment with a dry fake cough.

Uhura always stayed with a small clutch of students to further discuss topics with Spock after class. Or rather, Uhura stayed to talk, and the others simply watched and occasionally offered a small "yeah" or "I agree." Spock called these meetings of the mind "discussions." But to the observer, they were deeper, more interesting. Uhura was not afraid to play devil's advocate to Spock's cool marble logic. Things often stayed reasonable, but occasionally control slipped away. By the time they were speaking in curt Vulcan, the others watching knew it was time to leave.

"How can you say that? To ignore terrorist actions simply acts as a primer for others." Uhura switched the language from English to Vulcan as they sat in the classroom, long abandoned by the others. They sat next to each other, a footing of equals.

Spock gave a small tisk, but spoke in Vulcan as well. "Making your point in Vulcan does not, in reality, make your opinion any better or clearer to me. Are you trying to impress me?"

Uhura's lips pressed together tightly. "No."

"Are you trying to pander to me?"

"Of course not."

"Then there is no need to continue switching languages in our conversations."

Uhura stared at Spock's face for a moment, believing that she had actually seen some anger in his eyes. But the feeling was gone in an instant, replaced with the look of muted curiosity he often had. In English, "Fine, no switching. But my point is still valid…"

XXXXXXXXXX

When the semester came to an end, Uhura was disappointed. Most professors at the academy spent their last day summarizing the course in a casual manor and answering questions, an opportunity for students to see the person behind the stiff unblemished uniform. But Spock led a full lecture, a long detail oriented lecture, and with thirty seconds left, said a simple thank you and left the lecture hall without a muscle twitch indication of turning back. The class sat stunned, for a moment, but then someone gave a low grunt of "typical" and students filed out. Uhura waited until everyone trickled away, making up her mind, rubbing a temple deeply, until she suspected she would bruise. Go. Don't go. Go. Don't go.

"Go, go, go." The words were like a ghost in the empty hall.

Uhura's boots clicked along the abandoned hallway. Heals, her one indulgence in vanity. She liked the way they sounded, like a metronome your body created, the external pace of a poem being written into the ground. The sun was setting behind the ocean outside the long windows, stretching her body out longer and longer.

The door to Spock's office was open. Against her better judgment Uhura walked into the office without a sound. Spock was sitting in a chair, hunched a little forward. In his hands was a book. In a place of higher learning such as the Academy, paper books were rare, exotic. Computers had eliminated the need for them, and in general only professors who were collectors or pompous windbags kept them around.

Which made the book in Spock's hands that more alien. He held it carefully, almost tenderly, tracing the spine of the book first, then following the contours in the cover with a finger. With a flick of his thumb the cover fell open and Spock brought the book up toward the light, Uhura suspected he read something personal written inside. He froze, intense eyes flitting back and forth across the page. Unexpectedly, a small smile turned up the corners of his lips, not quite big enough to make the muscles around his eyes relax though. He flipped the cover closed, touching it gently again.

Uhura cleared her throat. The book jolted out of Spock's hands onto the floor, but he grabbed it gracefully while standing and turning. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"I left the door open," he responded, dropping the book on the chair, and clasping his arms behind his back.

"Yes." Unconsciously, Uhura wrapped one arm around her torso so it clutched the opposite forearm. "I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed your class."

Spock nodded "Thank you. Completing teaching is very…fulfilling. I didn't think I would be so successful."

"Successful?"

"Through my students. You all produced truly exceptional work."

She relaxed a bit at the compliment, letting her arms relax to her sides. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, thank…"

"Yourself. I know."

Spock's left eye brow slowly moved toward his hairline. "Am I so predictable?"

Uhura's mouth fell open a bit. Was that a joke? Her eyes flitted from the book back to him, and she smiled softly. "Consistent. You are consistent."

"Consistent." Spock considered this for a moment, "that's acceptable." They stood in a peaceful silence, Spock considering her, "I hope that you don't think this is too bold, but I submitted your name and you have been selected to proctor first year classes this summer. You had mentioned that you weren't planning on going home, and I thought you would enjoy this job over working in the com connection center."

She gave a genuine smile. "Yes, that's fine. Great."

He took a step forward. "We would most likely be working together to improve the curriculum."

"Of course."

"I think your papers indicate a level of proficiency that matches my work."

"Well, that's a compliment."

"What is?"

She took a step forward as well. "You're saying that you think we'd work well together."

"I never actually said that."

Uhura's eyes flicked back to the book on the chair. It sat bathed in the light. "No but that's what you meant, isn't it?" It wasn't really something that a student said to a teacher, and later Uhura suspected that this one line was when their relationship really changed tone.

"Yes," Spock agreed. "It's what I meant." He turned suddenly and picked up the book from the chair, holding it carefully in his hands. "When my mother heard I'd been given a position here, she sent me this book." He handed it to Uhura, who examined the exterior. "It's a very ancient account of Vulcan schooling. Apparently a discipline wand was especially popular before our pod system came into use. Look inside the cover." Uhura flipped open the book with one hand, and studied the gentle cursive. It read, in English: 'Go easy on them, Spock. They're just as scared as you are.' When he spoke again, Spock's voice was confident, but noticeable quieter. "I was curious if she was correct."

"I don't know." Uhura shut the cover. "I guess it depends on how scared you were."

"How scared were you?"

"I asked first."

"That's irrelevant."

She put and hand on her hip. "So what, your question is more important?"

"If I want to accurately understand my interactions and perceptions on students, then yes, I suppose my question is more important."

She considered the book in her hand, its light brown leather cool to the touch. "I'm sorry; I thought we were talking about fear."

"We're not." Spock held out his hand for the book.

Uhura handed it to him stiffly. "No, I guess we aren't."

They stared at each other, the book gripped tightly in Spock's hand. As the tension stretched on, Spock's thumb began to stroke the cover nervously. She watched him for a moment, and felt the tightness in her chest release a little. "Did your father send you anything?"

It was a personal question, and for a moment she didn't think he would answer. "My father wrote a letter of reference when I applied to teach. That was sufficient."

"I like the book better."

"As do I."

Uhura nodded. "Good night, Spock."

"I will see you soon."

And even though she didn't turn around to check, Uhura could have sworn that Spock watched her retreat all the way down the hall.

XXXXXXXXXX

Only Spock would insist on showing up fifteen minutes early the first day. The lecture hall was empty, except for him. Staring up the graduated seats Spock looked small and alone near the back.

Uhura climbed the stairs at a slow pace. "You saved me a seat."

The joke was lost on him. "You brought me coffee."

She glanced at the cups in her hands, warm and heavy. "I wasn't sure you'd want some. You once said it was a distraction."

"Not this early in the morning. My time living on earth has demonstrated the need for coffee."

"How very human."

"On Vulcan, stimulants like caffeine are seen as an excuses for a lack of planning to get enough rest."

As Uhura finally made her way down the aisle, Spock stood and let her pass, and held out a chair. "Thanks."

He nodded and sat, drawing the coffee closer, concentrating on the steam rising off the top. Other students were beginning to enter in small groups, talking and laughing. One girl looked up and waved to Uhura, recognizing her from somewhere fun and sunny. But then she noticed the person Uhura was sitting with, and the high wave drooped a little then stopped. No one waved to Spock.

"So…" Uhura began, "What have you been up to these last few weeks?"

"Reading and meditation."

"Did you finish the book your mother sent you?"

"I finished that three days after it arrived."

"And?"

Spock looked at her quizzically. "I find it hard to believe that you wish to know more about the history of Vulcan education."

"Maybe I haven't had a good conversation in a few weeks."

"You mean since you've seen me."

Uhura took a large gulp of her coffee in an effort to hide her smile. "That's not what I said."

"But it is what you meant."

"Maybe. Just don't start to think that I've missed you or anything."

Spock blinked several times. He said, "Why would I think that? I have not thought of you;" then turned his face away to diligently read a tablet on the table.

She was too proud to acknowledge the disappointment.

In the front of the room a chair tipped over drawing their attention downward. The room was only a third filled with people, but two young cadets had still managed to start a small shoving and yelling match.

"It's instances like this," Spock muttered, "that make me question the current acceptance policies of the Academy." Uhura thought about placing her hand on his arm and whispering the Vulcan word for moron, but reconsidered. "What in the world does anyone have to fight about at 7:50 am?"

"Yeah, well your mother is a yellow bellied glotshgault!" one hollered, and the first punch was thrown.

Spock was out of his chair instantly. "Stop. Now." He bellowed in his most authoritarian voice. The words were effective on everyone but the two people fighting. The group stated in awe and fear, like dazed cows by the side of the road, as Spock bounded down the steps and over a table trying to get at the two idiots doing their best to expose the other's brain matter.

Uhura didn't stay idle either, taking two stairs at a time, and using a table edge to slingshot herself around the corner and outside the room. Gasping for air she managed to punch in the correct code on the com for…

"This is security."

"Two cadets are fighting in room 334."

"On our way."

Her finger had just hit the off switch when a high, strangled female voice projected from the classroom. "Oh my God!"

Her heart sank a little as students pushed their way through the door looking desperate for escape. By the time she had managed to get through, the room had become eerily silent. In front of the lectern, crumpled on the ground in an unceremonious heap, were the two idiots who had been fighting. Standing above them, chest heaving even with good posture, was Spock. As Uhura came closer, eyes concentrated on Spock's back, the only conscious student left, a pale looking young woman, crouched down and reached out a hand toward one of the bodies.

"I assure you, they are not dead." Spock's voice was calm, but not exactly comforting.

She shook her head, and her voice had a slight tremor. "I just want to make sure he's OK." She touched one the cadet's heads gently, stoking his hair. "He's my friend."

"I said he was fine."

"Yeah, but…"

"The nerve pinch on humanoids in nonlethal."

"You…"The woman's head shot up and saw Spock's face. She shuddered a bit then stood. "What do you know about humans." she asked, pointing. But when her anger failed to evoke any response from Spock, she put her head down she stormed out of the room.

And then there was silence.

Uhura swallowed hard, even though her mouth was dry. "Spock?" He didn't move. She edged closer, putting one hand on his shoulder and saying his name again, "Spock?"

Her touch made his head whip around and Uhura couldn't help but jump back. During the fight someone must have gotten the jump on Spock, even momentarily, because thick green blood covered his mouth and chin, dribbling down his neck and soaking the front of his tunic. Despite her brains best efforts to stop her, she cringed a bit outwardly at the sight, and could see Spock suck in a small breath to see the wince in her eyes. "Have you called security?" he asked.

She nodded, "Be here any second."

Spock looked down at the men. "Good."

"Your nose…"

"Is broken."

Uhura stuck out a hand. "Come sit down."

"The situation doesn't…"

"Do you really think that those two are going anywhere?"

Spock opened his mouth to respond, but just then security arrived. After briefly explaining the circumstances, Spock sat down in the front row heavily and waited for the medical team to arrive. Uhura took a seat next to him and studied his profile. If it weren't for the blood, his face was completely placid. But when she put her hand on his upper arm, she felt the tightness of his muscles and looked down. Each individual finger was wrapped tightly around the end of the arm rest, knuckles turning white. "Let me see your nose," she said softly as to not attract the attention of the security guards tending to the cadets.

"No."

"Spock…"

"Do I not frighten you, like I did her?" The words were harsh, and cut.

"I have three older brothers who had a deep love of contact sports. You are not my first broken nose. Though you are, admittedly, my first green one."

Beneath her hand, Uhura felt his arm relax a little, and several seconds later was rewarded when his head turned her way. Before she could stop herself a hand reached up and touched his cheek gently, making him pull away slightly, but not so far that she couldn't continue to examine the area carefully. "Yup," she concluded, "one of them got ya good."

"A momentary lapse. A chair got in my way." The blood on his lips was dry, and cracked as he talked.

"It's always the chair's fault."

"I fail to see how humor helps our situation."

"Then what can help?" she asked. It was only then that Uhura realized that the hand tracing his face had come to rest with one palm on his cheek. She marveled at how warm his cheek was, the skin smooth and soft. Their eyes locked, and in an instant Uhura's brain filled with all the wonderful ways Spock might answer such a question. But no words came. Instead, a hand simply snaked its way up between them, gently taking her wrist to push her hand away. "I'm sorry," she whispered in Vulcan.

Spock's answer was in English, eyebrow slightly raised. "This is not how I imagined the first day of class happening either."

"That's not what I mea…" But her thought was cut short by the medical crew coming in. Uhura relinquished her seat so Spock could be looked after. Standing awkwardly to the side she called, "Is there anything else I can do?"

"No. I will contact you as soon as I know more about when the class will be rescheduled."

Uhura nodded, but Spock's attention was elsewhere. She was out the door, so she almost didn't hear when Spock called out to her again. Sticking her head around the threshold she answered, "What was that?"

"Thank you," Spock repeated. In Vulcan.

When she was alone in the elevator, Uhura leaned against the wall heavily, and smiled.

_To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello everyone. Thanks for the wonderful reviews! They've kept me going during a very difficult time. I wish I'd gotten this update out sooner, but my job keeps me very busy. __Enjoy!_

When Spock left Vulcan to join the Academy, his mother had cried. She didn't weep. He'd only seen that happen once, when he was very small. Spock didn't remember what had made her cry so hard, just that it was at a dinner party where his mother had looked beautiful. All that was Vulcan in him stopped him from offering her a compliment, but as she prepared for the evening he lingered in her room to see the lamps make her dress shine a little and marvel at how tenderly his mother brushed her hair.

Later he'd followed her back to her bedroom, sneaking away from his own since it was well past his bedtime and through the crack in the door heard sobs. Even though he was little, he knew that crying was one of the bigger transgressions that he must avoid. Crying was "an unnecessary overflow of emotions" and "never solved the problem or aided in difficult situations." To show interest in someone who was crying "perpetuated the idea that such behavior was acceptable." Or so his father had instructed him when he'd broken his arm, the bone nearly poking through the skin.

But his feet weren't listening, and by the time his brain was done lecturing, he was standing in front of her. "Mother?" he asked quietly, unusually timid. The hands covering her face didn't move and the improper sounds she made failed to end. Reaching out gently to touch her wrist, he tried again. "Mother?"

Her crying stopped, hands dropping to her lap. Her eyes, a perfect template for his own, stared back glossy. "You are perfect," she managed to croak out, then wrapped him fiercely in a hug and begun to cry once again. He'd stood there like a wooden doll, the situation so foreign and uncomfortable that his hands gripped the bottom of his tunic in an effort to regain some control. They stayed like that for a long time, his mother's face buried in his shoulder, his face staring at the window behind them out into the dry, windswept world that was Vulcan.

So when they stood on the platform outside the transport ship, and Amanda Grayson once again chided her husband for not allowing her to at least travel with their son to Earth, Spock internally prepared himself for some sort of scene. But it never came. His mother's breath was hitched, and a few tears escaped, but she was by no means hysterical, simply standing before her son and offering platitudes like "call me please" and "don't order only junk food from the replicator."

Some elders had come to see him off as well, and they stood back a bit with his father, chatting quietly. Though it was improper to stare, Spock knew full well that the attentions of everyone near by were on him and his mother. Without looking down at her, he asked, "Maybe you wish you had another child, so you wouldn't be so sad in my departure."

Amanda shook her head and smiled a bit. "No, raising you was the logical number for your father and I."

A little part of Spock wanted to laugh, but he knew that he couldn't, so he inclined his head forward as a sign of familiarity. "You sound more and more like him."

"As do you."

Spock stiffened involuntarily. "You are worried about me."

She smiled a bit. "As is your father."

Spock stared back at his father. They had spoken exactly fifteen words to each other since he'd come home to and announced that he was going to Starfleet. Those fifteen words were not kind. "He doesn't appear to share your concern."

"He does, in his own way. But Spock, I'm not worried for you. I'm hopeful."

Spock's browns knitted together in confusion. "Then why are you crying?"

"Emotions…have many dimensions. I would like to think I have shown you that. And maybe spending some time on Earth will show you even more."

"You think that going to Earth will turn me 'more human.' Is that what you want, mother?" His tone was a strange mix of confusion, hurt, and his best shot at logic.

Amanda shook her head in a small, sad way. "My hope is that Earth will make an easier truce inside you between the two halves of yourself. That you might learn some balance or appreciation. I fear I haven't been the best teacher."

Spock stared at the ground. "You have been a more than adequate teacher." Amanda gave a small chuckle and he looked back up. "I'm just unsure of what you hope Earth can teach me."

"I'm not sure either. But that's the nature of hope. It's powerful and beautifully undetermined."

"So is a weed."

"Fine, say that you don't understand what I'm talking about even when you do. I know better."

"You mean you hope you know," Spock said almost mischievously, turning his head a bit to his side, making his mother break into a genuine smile.

A tone sounded and they knew it was time for him to board. Amanda placed a hand on his chest lightly. "I understand you don't want a big scene, so I will simply wish you luck." She patted the spot above his heart tenderly and walked away.

Spock swallowed hard and watched her retreat a few paces before calling out. "Mother?" She turned and walked back, a small look of confusion on her face. Before she could ask the question, he bent slightly and gave her a hug, gently wrapping his arms around her back and putting his head on her shoulder.

She put her hands on his back as well. "You didn't have to do this."

"Yes I did."

Amanda pulled away and smiled, touching his face gently. "And I love you, too."

XXXXXXXXXX

After the fight was almost as strange as the fight itself. The event happened so early in the morning that the sun was barely in the sky when the doors of the building slid open. Uhura shielded her eyes from the sun and saw her classmates ambling along, bleary eyed, happy in the knowledge that their days were not yet ruined. As she began to walk around campus, the adrenaline slowly wore off, and her neck and shoulders became sore from the stress. In her mind she broke down the day's events, trying to categorize exactly how she felt.

Sit, drink, talk, argument, run, breath, touch, feel, stop. Verbs.

Warm, calm, confusing, hurt, afraid, concerned. Adjectives, adverbs.

Students, Uhura, Spock. Nouns.

Spock. It ended her ordered thoughts. She could not shake the image of his knuckles death gripping the armrest, the caked blood on his face, the words "Do I not frighten you, like I did her?"

He did. And, he didn't. Spock would call the circumstance complicated. Spock.

Uhura stopped on the sidewalk and looked down. Her hands had knitted together, mimicking his by turning pale from the effort. On her right hand, a little of Spock's blood had dried under her finger nails. She sighed, shook her fingers to get her blood moving again, and then dug through her bag for a tablet. She was a little shocked to see that she'd been walking around for almost an hour, and was getting dangerously close to missing her next class. Galeth, who had a concentration in security, was the TA in a self defense class she was required to take but had been putting off for years.

XXXXXXXXXX

There was nothing like being put on her back, repeatedly, to take Uhura's mind off Spock. It wasn't that she was bad at defense, Uhura had never failed at anything, but she was a pushover for her friends. And when Galeth had asked for volunteers, and the first year students had quickly diverted their eyes to the mat, she'd volunteered, distractions and lack of knowledge be damned.

How hard, after all, could it be?

After the third flip over Galeth's back, the sweat becoming visible through her clothes, she swore at him in Romulan.

Galeth squatted down a bit so his arms rested on his knees over Uhura's head. "I resent the implication that my mother is anything less than beautiful." With the overhead lights above blaring down Galeth looked downright angelic. But alas, he was not there for a rescue.

Uhura turned her head a bit and felt her hair tug against the mat. "You don't even know what I said."

Galeth offered her a hand, which she took willingly, and pulled her up. "I guessed," he said just quietly enough so the people around them weren't privy to the conversation.

"Good guess," Uhura said under her breath and got back into fighting stance.

At the end of class a bright eyed young man, as fresh and spiky as his newly buzzed hair, ran up to her asking excitedly "Are you Uhura?"

"Yes," she said cautiously.

"See I told you," he called back to his friends. "So," he turned his attention back, "you were there."

Though her heart sank, Uhura played dumb. "What are you talking about?"

The cadet threw up his arms in mock exasperation, fingers pressed together so his hands were like daggers. "Oh come on, everyone on campus knows about it. The message boards are all about it."

Uhura raised one eyebrow. "It?"

"The fight. With Spock and the cadets. My friend was there and he says that Spock was all yelling and running. It's the most anyone has seen him do in years, apparently."

"I'm not sure…"

The student went right on, stepping a little close into Uhura's comfort zone. "I heard he took them down with a pinch like some kind of freak."

She felt as if her lungs had hardened. "Freak is a relative term," Uhura informed the cadet blankly, reaching into her bag and dragging out her cordless earphones, cranking up the volume on the dialectical differences of a cluster of planets to eardrum bursting capacity. When Galeth waved, obviously trying to get her attention about lunch, she pretended she didn't see him.

It was one of the ironic perks of being a language major. One could always find an excuse to block out the world with one language over another. And at the moments when Uhura couldn't face life at the Academy, when she was sad, or homesick, or angry, or nervous, all she had to do was put on her headphones and the world stayed away, as if the ear buds produced their own protective shield that the torpedoes of reality couldn't shatter.

So she retreated to her room for some blissful solitude. A shower was taken. Under the rhythmic beats of the water drops, Uhura once again replayed the morning's events. Coffee, sit, talk, fight, control, touch, Spock.

Spock.

She felt unjustifiably embarrassed thinking about him, even chastely, while naked, and quickly jumped out of the shower.

Lying on her bed soon afterward, Uhura put in the ear buds for her translation recorder and listen until her pleasant dreams were in Andorian too.

Hours later a persistent com call woke her up. "Come on," came a whiny familiar voice, "you owe me details about your first day."

Uhura placed a pillow over her face. "Go away Galeth."

"Are the message boards really true? It can't have been that bad."

She pressed the pillow even tighter over her face, praying for suffocation. "Go away."

Uhura could hear what sounded like a bag being shaken. "I brought food," he tempted her in a sing-song voice.

She got up and went toward the door. "Unless it's useless and unhealthy, you can leave now."

Even though the door was thick she could hear him snort without the com. "Come on Uhura, what kind of food do you think I'd bring?"

The door slid open, and Galeth smiled like an idiot.

When the majority of the spread of appropriately useless, but tasty, junk food had been devowered and Uhura's story related Galeth leaned back against the bed and sighed. "So what now?"

Uhura shrugged, popping open a container, "I wait."

"For how long?"

The container was empty, so she tossed it back to the floor. "He said he'd contact me."

"And you're OK with that?"

Uhura shrugged, "Why wouldn't I be? I have no reason to believe he'd go back on his word."

"True. He is Vulcan."

Suddenly there were goose bumps on Uhura's arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"They aren't known for lying," Galeth pointed out.

"It's amazing," Uhura said, her voice having just the edge of sharpness, "that you can say that and make it sound like a detriment, not a positive." She leaned over and stole the bag of food he'd been eating.

"Are you kidding me?" Galeth was large, physically wide and tall with deep blue skin that shimmered in the light next to her bed like a captured ocean. "You know I take psychology courses in addition to my security prep, right? The whole get inside the head of your enemy?"

"I know."

Galeth grinned. "We like Vulcans. They don't have a tendency to act out or fight or act irrationally. They live in a calculated, cause and effect world. Easy to control." Uhura laughed a little, putting a hand over her mouth to stop the embarrassing escape of food. "What?"

"I just had a mental image of you trying to control Spock. It doesn't end well."

Galeth puffed his chest a little in mock pride. "For him I hope."

"Sure, whatever you want to believe."

"Your confidence in me is inspiring." They chuckled for a minute, but when Galeth spoke again he was serious. "He's not like us."

"That's an awful thing to say."

Galeth leaned forward a bit. "I'm not talking about some big, racist, get off my planet thing. I was more thinking that he'd never be sitting on the floor with us eating an obscene amount of food. He'd probably say that 'food isn't supposed to be eaten in dorm rooms,' and 'a healthy diet doesn't involve binging.'"

"He'd be right, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Galeth rubbed his neck and looked around the room. "He'd be right, but he'd be missing out on the therapeutic qualities of this over the…other qualities of…this."

"You make a compelling argument." Uhura clapped enthusiastically. "Bravo!" Galeth gave her an exhaustive look that managed to stop her clapping but not her smirk.

"Well I'm sorry, Ms. Uhura, if my vocabulary skills aren't up to the standard of the other people you're friends with."

"We're not friends. We work together, nothing more."

"You are a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying!"

"Everyone lies, even if it's just to themselves. Even your precious Spock."

Uhura looked down at her hands and the room suddenly seemed unusually still and quiet. "I think that it's time I go to bed."

They stood. "Yeah, me too." He hugged her chastely and said goodbye.

Uhura checked her email again. No message from Spock. Despite the nonchalance she'd tried to portray with Galeth, she was desperate to know how Spock was. Curious if he replayed the events of the day over and over in his head, as she had. If he stood in the mirror, examining his nose with regret. If he'd loose sleep, too. But then an idea struck her, and in it's simplicity she found a solution. "A Vulcan is a Vulcan," said to her slightly reflection in the darkened window.

XXXXXXXXXX

Spock left the door to his office unlocked, a fact that Uhura was glad for when carrying two cups of coffee. She got the door open with one elbow on the keypad and managed to set the cups down on his desk without incident. In the daylight Spock's office looked down right clinical. It must have been a favorite of housekeeping to clean, with its lack of pictures on the walls or trinkets on the desk. If Uhura hadn't double checked the name plate outside, she could have well walked into an abandoned office. No wonder he'd left the place unlocked, there was nothing of value to steal.

She was taking off her light sweater when Spock came in. He looked at her strangely, hand still rooted on out of sight keypad. "You are here," he said expressionlessly, hiding any sense of displeasure or happiness.

"Good morning," Uhura said brightly, "I brought coffee. For us."

Spock came into the office and began to set down his things behind his chair. "I thought I said that I would contact you."

"Yes, but I wanted to make sure you were doing OK."

Spock sat down but made sure to make eye contact with her, "A broken nose is not fatal."

Uhura sat down across from him, "Fatal, no. But not enjoyable." She stared at him. There was deep bruising around his eyes and his nose was greenish. "So, how does your nose feel?"

"Did you really come here this early in the morning to ask how my nose feels?"

Uhura smiled. "Yes."

Spock paused for a second before answering, shifting in his chair. "Medication has alleviated most of the pain and the doctor says I should be fully healed within a week."

"That's good."

"Indeed." They sat in an awkward silence for a minute, before Spock sighed and pulled the coffee closer to him, lifting the lid to test its warmth. "How did you even know I'd be in my office at this time?"

"I checked the school database, and it said you had office hours, and I just assumed…"

"That a broken nose would not keep me from my obligations."

Uhura nodded, trying to project warmth. "That's right."

"It was a good guess."

"With you Spock, it was never a guess, it was an assurance."

"Then it might surprise you to know I considered staying in bed this morning."

Uhura leaned forward, perhaps a little too excitedly, "You did?"

"It sounded…appealing. For a moment. But I cannot ignore my obligations to the school."

"No one would have cared," she pointed out, leaning back in her chair and gesturing with her hands. "No one would have even known since you don't have any students."

Spock's hands locked around his coffee cup, but he drank none of the liquid. "I would have known."

"And felt guilty." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd picked the wrong words to say.

"I think you are confusing duty and guilt."

"Oh, I understand." Uhura felt certain that Spock knew she was lying. But then again, she was pretty sure he was lying too. She began to gather her things. "I shouldn't have come."

"Uhura…"

"No, my mistake. Really, when you know more, just message me."

Spock stood, but Uhura turned to leave anyway, her ponytail swinging hard enough to land on the front of her body. And she would have walked out of the office, put on her headphones, and tuned out the world for the rest of the day in righteous anger if she hadn't looked up and to the right when opening the door and seen the paper. Paper was more common than books, but not consistently present to be normal. The piece that Uhura stared at was old, possibly older than her by the looks of it. The layout was simple enough, a large thick black circle with the words "Moron Stress Alleviator: When aggravated, hit head here." Her lips parted in a smile, even if her voice sounded unsure, "What is this?"

"That is a complicated question, despite the simplicity of the object," Spock responded, and Uhura nearly jumped out of her skin. Silently he'd moved to only a foot or two away and now stood with arms folded neatly across his front. If she'd had left, he would have chased her down.

She turned sideways so she could see both the paper and Spock clearly. "It doesn't seem like something that you'd have gotten for yourself. Or given to you as a gift."

"You are very observant. It is something in-between."

Uhura turned her head to the side, but Spock stayed silent. The moment dragged on. "Care to explain," she finally prompted.

"That depends, do you really want to know, or are you making small talk."

"Spock, do I seem like the kind of person who'd ask if I didn't want to know."

Spock glanced at the ground. "No."

"Tell me."

Spock's head shot up, and he stared at her for a second, and Uhura could see a world inside his eyes, deep and rich. "Do you remember the day you met your freshmen advisor, probably the first day of classes here on campus?"

"How does that have anything to do…?" Spock held up a hand, and Uhura reminded herself that he wasn't trying to be rude. "I remember."

"So do I. I remember thinking that his office was…impractical. My advisor liked to collect and display things. His desk was covered with trinkets, the walls in any number of pictures and trophies. The other students who were in that initial session gawked inappropriately. But for some reason I stopped and read this most carefully."

"You found it funny?"

"Of course not. It confused me. And the fact that there were stains on it already meant that people had used it. For what ends, I still do not understand. And when I pointed out the futility of having such a message, the other advisees laughed at me." Spock cleared his throat. "But my advisor took the time to try to explain it to me. He tried."

"And failed, I suppose."

"Yes, but he tried. He tried every meeting we had, in everyway." Spock sighed, and his crossed arms relaxed down to his sides. "You need to understand that when I came to earth, a great many things confused me, and not many people tried to slow down and explain."

"That must have been hard."

"It was isolating. During my first year, I only really spoke to…" Spock's voice trailed off, his eyes slightly glazed, staring into the middle distance. "Even when I picked a major outside his field, I didn't ask for a new advisor."

"He sounds like a good person."

"He was kind to me when no one else was."

Uhura stared back at the paper, and could see gentleness in its wrinkles and yellowed edges. "I'd like to meet him. Does he still teach here?"

"No. He is dead." Her head swiveled sharply. "He was on an aid mission my final year as a student when his ship was attacked. No survivors." Spock took a step closer and gently smoothed a corner of the sheet down. "They told his advisees to take something from his office. I went in with the others and acquired this. I folded it into my hand so no one would see and left."

"Why didn't you want others to see?" Uhura asked in almost a whisper.

Spock's hand dropped back to his side and his voice had an airy tone. "I was afraid they would ask me why I was taking anything. And I didn't have a proper answer."

"Do you have one now?"

Spock shook his head. "I've never told anyone that story."

"Why not?"

His voice regained some assurance. "Why would I want to burden others with an unfortunate tale? He was my advisor, not theirs. Students now wouldn't even know who he was."

"What was his name?"

"Patrick Maru."

Uhura smiled. "Like the test."

"Yes. Professor Maru was working on it before he was killed, and when I took over after I thought that it was only fitting that the test bears his name."

"That's sweet."

"I am only giving credit where credit is due."

"Still… it was a kind gesture."

"To whom? Maru can't appreciate it."

Uhura sighed loudly, almost sounding farcical. "I'm giving you a compliment. Please take it."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Thank you?"

"See, not so hard." She turned to face Spock completely. "You know when I was a freshmen, my advisor mispronounced my name for a semester before I corrected him."

"That does not sound like you. You corrected me on the first day of class."

"I was younger, more timid I suppose. I wanted to make a good impression."

"From your service records, I never would have guessed that."

"Funny, you are funny."

"On occasion, I have been told. And not always intentionally." It was as if a warm breeze filled the air between them. Spock glanced back at the table. "I fear that the coffee you brought us has gone cold."

"Probably."

"Would you like to go and get some more?"

"That would be lovely."

And as they left, Uhura noticed that Spock held the door for her a little less stiffly, and their arms touched a bit in passing.

XXXXXXXXXX

The class was, eventually, rescheduled. The lecture hall they were in was large enough that the instructor used a mini-microphone in class, much like Spock had. The professor, a small man who's nerves made him less than battle ready, kept looking up at Spock and Uhura during the first day. So, unfortunately, did the rest of the students, as the incident of the first class had become near legend on campus.

"Why does everyone keep looking back here? It is disrespectful to the instructor." Spock whispered, turning his head only slightly so as not to add to the general classroom disturbance.

"Well, there is a rumor that you fought five guys with your shirt off in this very classroom." At the mention of being shirtless, Spock's head turned quickly around, face a bit paler, and Uhura couldn't help but blush. "It's just a rumor."

A few rows up one cadet poked the person next to him and both turned around. The first said something and both laughed quietly. Spock glared at them, and they turned around, a little panicked. "I dislike rumors," Spock said, voice a little extra chilly, "they are a waste of time."

"We could always step down from the class."

"I will not cater to childish behavior such as this or the further dissemination of false information. And neither will you. We stay."

Uhura nodded. "We stay."

XXXXXXXXXX

As the weeks wore on, with class every other day, Spock and Uhura fell into a simple routine. They'd meet at his office before class, and Spock brought the coffee. "I get paid more. It is more practical for me to buy," he'd explained, and Uhura wasn't interested in arguing. They'd chat on the way over to the lecture hall, usually about the class before. Though the proctor's job was mainly to observe and evaluate how the class was run and structured, but their instructor often looked to them to comment on various topics and asked them to set up a weekly study session. As midterms approached, Uhura came up with a theory as they walked to class.

"I bet he's going to ask us to help him grade the midterms."

Spock shook his head and slowed his pace so they could talk easier. "It is one of the essential duties of a professor to grade their own students' essays. He should do it on his own; it is what they are paying him for."

"Just because he should do it doesn't mean he will."

He straightened a little, tugging the bottom of his tunic. "I graded all the papers in my class."

"You didn't have a TA or a proctor, less temptation," Uhura pointed out.

"Our presence is not an excuse for his failure to perform his duties as an instructor."

Uhura stopped on the sidewalk, shielding her eyes in the morning glare. "I'll bet you lunch that he asks us to grade."

The sun was behind Spock's head, with small rays of light streaming around the points of his ears. "I do not bet on things, Uhura."

"Oh come on."

"Betting does not change the circumstances of a situation, only the reactions of those observing the situation."

"I think you are just afraid to loose because you'll have to buy me lunch."

"I buy us coffee every class."

Uhura stared at him, and contemplated bringing up the issue of pride. But pride was an emotion, and the rare conversations they'd had about emotions usually ended with him turning away angrily and using the word 'illogical.' So Uhura let it drop, as she often did. "Come on, we're going to be late for class."

Spock followed dutifully. And sure enough, as soon as they were inside the door, the professor pulled them aside and asked quietly if they would consider taking half the essays. As the professor prattled on about the exhaustion he'd been dealing with lately and the burden of conducting the class, Uhura hit Spock in the side a little bit, and the corner of his mouth twitched up as if he were going to smile, though of course he never did.

They always departed quickly so Uhura had plenty of time to change before her defense class. They were finishing their unit on hand to hand combat, and Uhura was sparring with Galeth, like always.

"I don't understand," she said between light, target jabs into mitts Galeth held, "why no one ever picks me as a sparring partner."

"Does this link back into some deep issue from gym class during your childhood? A dodge ball tragedy I don't know about?" Galeth teased.

"Please," Uhura landed a strong kick, "I killed at dodge ball."

"I have a theory."

Jab. "Tell me." Kick.

His eyes tracked around the room, anywhere but Uhura's face. "You aren't going to like it."

Another jab, harder than the one before. "Galeth…"

"Vulcan cooties."

Uhura stopped sparring, her face both sweaty and confused, parts of her ponytail sticking to the perspiration on her back. "Dodge ball…cooties…what, are you now a seven year old Human male?"

"A person can aspire. Come on, keep hitting me." Uhura went back to work, punches and kicks solid and centered, but Galeth couldn't let the issue drop. "I'm telling you, it's Vulcan cooties."

She stopped fighting again, hands on her hips. "Sometimes, I wonder why we're friends."

Galeth shrugged defensively. "I'm only telling the truth."

"You," she pointed, "are being ridiculous."

"I'm not say that you believe in Vulcan cooties, or that I believe in them, but we are of higher intelligence than the average first year student we are surrounded by. They're just getting used to the whole mix with people from other planets and grow into a deeper person Starfleet philosophy. I bet many haven't even been off planet. New things are scary."

"They don't seem to be scared of you."

Galeth considered things for a second before answering. "Do you know what I do every Friday night? I go out to the bars."

"You don't drink anymore."

"That's true, but my students do. I go out, I sit with them, we talk, tell stories. And suddenly the fact that I'm a foot taller then them, blue, and able to breathe underwater seems a lot less scary. Do you know what Spock does on a Friday night?"

"No," Uhura answered quietly, even though a small part of her wished she did have the answer.

"No one does. And that's the problem. People like to make a connection to others. We seek it out. It's natural. But he seems to reject all that. He's like an enigma wrapped in a scowl followed by a rain cloud."

Even though this description bothered Uhura desperately, she tried to not let her emotions show. "I don't see him that way. I see possibility."

"Because you've gotten to know him and you're a good person. And that's fine. But from the perspective of someone who is new and maybe a little sheltered, he's that guy that never smiles at you and speaks in a monotone when calling your ideas stupid in a respectful manor, and you're that girl who's always following him around talking. Therefore you have cooties."

"I do not have Spock's cooties!" Uhura hollered a bit too loud. Suddenly the room was silent, many eyes trained on Uhura, who now wished a volcanic eruption might occur so the ground could swallow her up. She stared at the mat beneath her feet, but nothing happened. "Damn."

"Stop staring," Galeth shouted at the agog cadets, "or it's laps for all of you." The students dispersed, but not without some quiet talking.

"There are other Vulcans on campus, other professors." Uhura pointed out. "No one seems to mind their lack of emotion or socialization."

"That's true. Maybe it's because he's younger or has more interaction with students than they do. Most Vulcans are members of the governing board, you wouldn't expect them sit down with you in the mess hall. I don't know. It might be a cliché, but I guess people don't understand how a pretty girl like you can be friends with a guy like him." Galeth hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

Uhura stared where Galeth had pointed, as if Spock might appear. "He's…"

"Look, you don't have to explain to me."

"Do you understand why I'm friends with him?"

"Do you know why you're friends with him?"

Uhura thought for a minute, unwrapping the tape from her hands in a slow methodical way. When she spoke, her words were serious. "How did you know what cooties were?"

Galeth didn't even try to hide his genuine confusion. "What?"

"The word. How did you learn the word? It's not a term which has a synonym in your language."

He thought for a second. "You taught it to me. To explain the taunts of my roommate our freshman year when my gills produced that nasty puss during allergy season." He smiled broadly. "It's a great word."

"And if I hadn't taught you that word, if no one had taken the time to teach it to you, would it be your fault for not understanding?"

"No. Lost in translation, I suppose."

Uhura got very close to Galeth. "I understand," she started, then lowered her voice considerably; "I understand that he's half human, but all anyone sees are pointed Vulcan ears. I understand that when no one else can. That's why we're friends."

Galeth nodded. "When's the last time he surprised you? And not just by being smart and observant." he called out as Uhura walked away.

"There's a first time for everything."

And to her great surprise, that first time would be that very day. Because sitting outside the locker rooms, looking uncomfortable next to the sweat and dirt of the gym, was…

"Spock?"

He stood when she said his name, and Uhura could have sworn he was shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I believe I owe you lunch."

She smiled broadly. "Indeed."

_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi everyone! I won't even try to explain the long delay between chapters. But on the upswing, I have quite a few plotted out in my head. Enjoy!_

Uhura wasn't sure if Spock was nervous or distracted, it was hard to tell those two moods apart, especially since Spock would never admit to being nervous or distracted in the first place. She studied him carefully as they walked to lunch together, still a little surprised that he was there, as if his showing up after class was a delusion brought on by being hit in the head. But the sun, bright and beautiful in the clear cloudless sky, cast his shadow on the ground, and Uhura felt Spock's presence more concretely than ever before.

"We do not have to go to the cafeteria," Spock said eventually, eyes focused on the middle distance.

Uhura shrugged. "I don't feel like going anywhere else dressed like this." She was still in regulation sweats, edges a little frayed from being washed so many times. The Academy would give her new ones if she asked, but coming from a big family Uhura was no waster. Spock had on an informal uniform, but it looked immaculate.

"We could stop by your residence if you desire."

"Nah, this is fine. I'm hungry." Spock let out a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a huff. "What?" Uhura asked, amused.

"The parameters of the bet were that I purchase lunch for you."

"You are."

"If you use your card to gain entry to the cafeteria, then you are indeed paying." It was almost as if he were pouting.

"Actually, my parents paid for my meal plan, so technically they are paying." Uhura stopped walking and looked up a bit at Spock, grinning. Spock simply stared, but she could sense his displeasure at her attempt at humor. If she was with Galeth, she would have tried another joke, but Uhura had resigned herself to the fact that this was not Galeth long ago. "We can reschedule."

Spock looked to the right of her head. "But you said you were hungry."

Uhura turned her head just enough so her face disrupted Spock's line of vision, challenging his indecisiveness. "Then I suppose we have a dilemma."

Spock didn't look away but a tendon in his neck tightened like a twisting rope. "I…"

"Look, I'm hungry, so using some basic cause and effect, I'm going to have lunch. If you would like to join me, that would be fine." Without anger, Uhura walked away. After about ten paces she threw a glance over her shoulder. Spock was staring at her, hands clasped behind his back. "Are you coming?"

"You are," he commented, walking toward her, "unique."

Uhura batted her eyes innocently. "I certainly hope you aren't being euphemistic with your use of unique." He raised an eyebrow. "Some people," she explained, locking her hands behind her back to match his posture, "use 'unique' as a euphemism for abnormal."

"Abnormal would be a more negative description."

"Yes."

"Would it surprise you to hear that people have called me 'unique' in the past?"

Uhura didn't try to hide her chuckle. "I'm not sure surprise is the right word."

Spock didn't consider his answer for long, looking Uhura deep in her eyes, leaning forward just enough to be in the periphery of her personal body space. "I stand by my original statement. You are unique. And that is not a negative."

The weather was unseasonably warm, but there was a sudden chill down Uhura's spine. He'd noticed something unique? Noticed what, exactly? She smiled. "Thank you."

Spock's arms unwrapped from behind his back, as close to a smile as he could muster. "You are welcome."

Uhura crooked her head a bit, smile continuing to shine. "Come on, let's go get lunch."

XXXXXXXXXX

The mess hall was huge. During the full swing of the school year the place was full, and its size and grandeur were appropriate. But in the summer, when there appeared to be more sunlight scatter on the floor then people at tables, Uhura felt uneasy. It was as if she were a child who'd somehow wandered into a place only for adults, and if she stayed too long someone might discover her and kick her out. When the school year was on, and finding a seat was difficult, Uhura would linger in the hall, listening carefully for the different languages, taking a perverse pleasure in listening in to conversations that others had assumed to be private. But when the hall was empty during the summer, and her ears were surrounded by mostly English, Uhura sat at tables by herself and made plans to call her parents later.

Spock selected a table for them in a corner, away from most people. Still, a few pairs of eyes tracked them from behind cup rims discretely.

Their trays clanked lightly against the tabletop. Spock had a large salad, and Uhura's hamburger dripped with barbeque sauce. She compared their meals, then gave a somewhat nervous point toward his plate. "You got a salad."

"Are we playing the food identity game?"

"No no…I just forgot that you're a vegetarian. Maybe I should get something different."

Spock poked at his leafy greens. "I am a vegetarian by choice and temperament, not because I have objections to the slaughter of animals for meat. You should feel free to eat your meal. Though I wonder why you would want to eat a burger after working out. It seems…counterproductive."

Uhura picked up her burger and took a large bite, chewing and swallowing quickly. "Are you kidding me? I'm eating this burger because I just worked out." Spock opened his mouth to say something but Uhura waved a hand. "It's girl logic, I couldn't even start to explain."

Spock nodded, and they ate in silence for a few bites. Despite being together often, this new setting for interaction made both participants weary. Uhura stretched out her legs and accidentally hit Spock's foot, making her own appendage snap back like a rubber band. "Sorry."

"Can you see though the table?"

There was nothing to mask her confusion. "Say what now?"

"Can you see through the table?" Spock asked again, his voice mimicking the same effect as the first time, a unique casual curtness that Uhura had identified as his familiar tone. A tone he only really used around her.

"I forgot my x-ray glasses at home, so no."

"Then do not apologize. It is doubtful you could have seen my leg."

Uhura put down her hamburger and sucked sauce off her thumb. "My my, are you using that famous humor on me."

"As I informed you earlier, I can be funny."

"And often on purpose," she added.

"I'm curious if I was successful."

"In telling a joke?" Spock nodded. "Am I smiling?"

"It is most often illogical to answer a question with another question. It slows down the flow of information"

Uhura pointed a finger at him. "Stop stalling."

Spock put down his fork and stared at her intently. Uhura grinned at him, careful to show no teeth in case there was food. "Yes, you are smiling."

"Then let's count this joke experiment as a success."

"Agreed." They gapped into another silence and Uhura ate steadily. Spock pushed the salad around his plate. Was he nervous? Or was he just looking for a mushroom? "I do not often have informal meals with others," he said. "Discussion topics can differ based on context."

Uhura's eyebrows knit together, but she thought before speaking. She could get into a long debate with him about 'conversation ethics' and appropriateness, but looking at Spock, who had turned up the sleeves on his shirt just to eat a salad without dressing, just in case of a devious carrot sliver, she decided not to. How many meal time etiquette discussions had he already had in his life? On Vulcan, none the less (though she did enjoy the mental image of a young Spock, eating a peanut butter sandwich with the crusts cut off). She didn't want to beat a dead horse in public and finally decided on asking "How's your salad?"

Spock jumped a little, like a joint in his chair had bit him. "My salad is…satisfactory. I find the quality of the food in this commissary to be consistent."

"The salads here are good. I like the almonds."

"Almonds have a high nutritional value."

"I like how they make the salad crunchier."

"Yes, I also enjoy that quality, it creates diversity." They paused and Uhura waited, urging Spock on through sheer mental will. "How is your meal?"

Ah ha, so he could learn by example. She let out a breath. "Delicious, but it could maybe use some onions. Not as good as what my dad grills though."

"Your father is a chef?"

Uhura chuckled. "My father is a plant supervisor, but he loves to cook. My brothers and I once got him a 'King of the Grill' apron."

Spock seemed slightly agog. "Did he actually wear it?"

"Only once."

"To satisfy his children."

There was a tone of superiority to the statement that Uhura didn't enjoy. She set down the meager amount of burger that remained and leaned back in her chair. "Oh no, he probably would have worn in again, but he accidentally set it on fire on the Fourth of July. I have a great video of him running around our backyard, hitting himself with a spatula as my brothers and I throw drinks at him."

"Your mother did not try to help?"

"I'm sure she would have if she could have stopped laughing. That's all you hear in the video, my mother laughing and laughing. She only stopped when she figured out this meant our dinner got burnt. I think we ended up having pizza that night."

Spock looked out the window to the glistening sea. "My mother used to say that was the hardest part of living on Vulcan. She missed the food on Earth."

"Didn't you guys have very similar things? Our cultures trade so much."

His face remained in profile, sunlight through the windows warming his cheekbones. "Yes, but she said it was not the same if it was grown on Vulcan." Spock turned back slowly, put his fork down. "My mother would write her parents and beg them to send her mixes and powders. Things like cakes, brownies, cheesy potatoes, waffles, and rice. She always claimed that she wanted to save the food, and space out the pleasure of its consumption for as long as possible. But the supplies rarely lasted the first week."

"Your father must have hated that."

"He certainly objected to the extravagance of shipping such items. Additionally, producing and eating so much food in such a short period of time could be seen as very wasteful. But…"

Uhura rested her head in her hand, burger eaten, wrapper folded into a perfect square on her tray. "But?"

"But one time my mother made a big meal and as she looked at the food she said 'It's just like Thanksgiving' and my father reached for her hand under the table. We all had seconds that night."

Though Spock was staring right at her, his mind was across the galaxy, lost in time. There was a certain softness to his features. The knowledge that Spock loved his family, even if he didn't realize that that emotion existed inside him, warmed her heart. Uhura tried to make her voice unobtrusive. "I think that your father secretly likes human food."

Spock snapped back to reality, pupils less dilated. "I think my father was acutely aware of the burden my mother carried living away from her home and biological culture, and allowed indulgences for her…"

"Human-ness."

"Something like that, yes."

"And what about your human-ness?"

The coolness in his cheekbones returned. "I do not need such indulgences."

Spock returned to eating the remainder of his salad, and Uhura picked up her paper napkin and discreetly began ripping it to shreds in her lap. She hadn't meant to stick her foot far enough into her mouth to really taste the leather. Hadn't she, at least a little, tiny bit, been hoping to have a one-on-on meal with Spock? It was the next logical step in their what… friendship. Was that what this was? She wasn't at all certain. And she'd had to go and make things into a discussion about being human, about feelings. As the quietness stretched on, Uhura lurched through her mind for something to say.

"My grandmother used to sing when she made waffles." The outburst was so random that she had to resist the urge to slap her hand across her mouth and try to shove the words back in.

Spock looked back up at Uhura, fork stopped in mid air, lettuce tumbling off the prongs. "Excuse me?"

Uhura smiled and willed her back to relax into a more comfortable posture. She'd started this hole, might as well keep digging. "When I was about five my grandmother, Mama, came to live with us. My mom wanted to go back to college with my brothers; they're older, all in school. So Mama came and stayed, and she started this tradition of making waffles on Sunday. And she'd sing these songs, these beautiful songs, in Creole."

"Creole?"

"Mama was born in Haiti and didn't immigrate to America until she was fifteen. And her grandmother used to sing to her, so she sang to us." Now it was Uhura's turn to have her voice take on a dreamy quality.

"What were the songs about?"

"The songs?" Uhura met Spock's eyes and, to her surprise and relief, he seemed genuinely interested. His eyes were trained on her, unblinking, yet he ate without ceasing or spilling. "They were about a lot of things. Some were like fairy tales. Others were more traditional, about love, romance, you know what songs are like."

"In general, I listen almost exclusively to instrumental selections."

Uhura paused. On one hand he could be making a dig at her choice in music. On the other, he might be trying, in his own stilted way, to keep the conversation going. She opened her mouth to further explain, but was saved by a booming voice. "Uhura!" Both swiveled their heads to see Galeth striding across the cafeteria, waving at Uhura with one hand, smoothie in the other, fingers long enough to glide almost completely around the enormous cup. He reached their table quickly and Uhura felt her stomach clench. "Imagine meeting you two here. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Uhura almost took Spock's fork and put in into Galeth's neck. "Spock," she said, trying to sound natural, "I'd like you to meet my friend Galeth."

Galeth smiled and extended a hand. "Hi, Uhura's said great things about you."

Spock stood and shook, "Likewise. Please, join us." Galeth took a seat on Spock's side of the table, and Uhura's heart sank a little. So much for a whole lunch one-on-one.

"So," Galeth started, turning to Uhura, "I didn't realize that you had plans. If I had known you had a date, I wouldn't have waited for you at the gym."

Involuntarily, both Spock's and Uhura's eyes widened and locked with each other. Within a blink Spock looked away. Uhura had to jump start her lungs in order to speak. "We aren't on a date Galeth. Spock lost a bet."

Galeth let out a short, squeal sounding laugh. "That even better! Tell me more." Galeth locked both hands around his cup and started to suck enthusiastically, looking back and forth between the two.

"I think I need more to drink," Spock mumbled, getting up awkwardly from his chair, obviously perturbed by the loud clunking noises the armrests made against the tabletop.

Uhura felt a wave of panic. "No."

"I will return," Spock said sharply. When he saw her face, his voice softened. "Can I get you anything?"

My dignity, Uhura though ruefully. "I'm fine." Spock nodded and walked away swiftly. When Uhura believed he was out of ear shot, she whipped on Galeth, gripping his arm tightly. "Do you have a death wish I don't know about, because I could seriously kill you right now."

Galeth grinned. "Ha, I was right. This is a date. That's adorable."

She dug in her nails like a lioness taking down a gazelle and Galeth began to shake his arm to get her lose. "It is not," Uhura said through clenched teeth, "a date."

Galeth gave his arm a final tug to freedom. "Could have fooled me."

"Stop being an ass." She looked around and noticed Spock making his way back to the table. "Now are you going to play nice, or am I going to have to repeatedly kick you under the table?"

"I'll be good, Girl Scout's honor."

Spock was almost upon them, a tea cup in hand, so Uhura had to whisper her question. "How in the hell do you know what a Girl Scout is?"

"I like their cookies," Galeth said, giving a thumbs up.

"Unbelievable…" Uhura muttered.

"So, Galeth," Spock offered as he smoothed his uniform and sat down, "Uhura tells me you are in security?"

"It's true. With my physique," Galeth stretched his arms above his head, further emphasizing his serious size, "they were originally going to put me into the elite ballet and cookie making division here at Star Fleet. But after some bribes and crying, I convinced them otherwise."

Uh oh, sarcasm, Uhura thought. This could go one of two ways.

"Did you know I was selected for the professional scowling team here?" Spock responded, sipping his cup as if commenting on the bland color of the table. "Very prestigious."

Galeth's grin must have made his cheeks ache. "Very. And so highly organized too."

"Indeed. So tell me more of your studies. How do you see security integrating and changing with the new class of Enterprise? The size alone must present several unique challenges."

Uhura's first instinct was to fall from her chair in a state of shock. But that emotion passed quickly, and was replaced with an even more surprising one: happiness. Spock has lunch with her. He talks about home. He jokes and makes nice with her friend. It wasn't easy, and at times uncomfortable. But she was pleased with the results. As she watched Spock and Galeth chat, she noticed they were both enthusiastic, but in their own ways. Galeth spoke loudly, his voice and arms emotive with expression. Spock had turned in his chair, his attention fully on Galeth, not even bothering to touch his tea. He asked pointed questions and leaned forward and back, tilting his head while following the flow of conversation. Uhura was certain she could break out into the Charleston then and there, shoes clicking on the table top as she danced, and Spock would not be swayed from his duty. Hadn't anyone noticed before? His formalness was his sign of respect. Had humans fallen so low in their understanding of etiquette that they'd missed it? Was this why Spock was so misunderstood? Of course not, nothing was so simple in her, it would be silly to say that about Spock. But it was a starting point. And even though she'd never admit it out loud, she was really starting to enjoy unraveling the layers of her friend.

Yes, she thought, that's right. Friend.

So when Galeth and Spock ended their conversation with a strong, genuine handshake, and Spock walked her home, Uhura didn't hesitate to lay a hand on his forearm while saying goodbye.

Neither person commented on the touch, but each remembered it through the night.

10


End file.
